


We Look Like Lightning

by nogrey



Series: I watch young justice and overthink the concept of child heroes [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:40:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22147303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nogrey/pseuds/nogrey
Summary: With his costume stripped away, tools and gadgets stolen to be taken apart by the tech department, face bare of the mysterious mask that usually protected his identity, he looked like the young man that he really was. Goodwin had seen Nightwing in action, just once, when a case had led him on the trail of Waller and her secrets. Now, Goodwin could see him without the rose-tinted glasses. This was not a superhero. This was a young man, manipulated since childhood and raised as a soldier.The identities of the Bat Family are exposed. Finally, the world opens up its eyes to the truth of the child heroes.
Series: I watch young justice and overthink the concept of child heroes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1437634
Comments: 44
Kudos: 314





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly there are so many things about Young Justice that irritate me but I always base my fics in it because the timeline is more certain. However, writing this made me realise that I have no idea what's going on if Dick, Steph, Cass, Tim, Babs and Kate are all around with Batman, but there's no Duke and Jason and Damian are still with the League. But like... I'll just deal with it and decide how I want it to be later on because foresight when I'm writing? Non-existent.
> 
> Title is from We Look Like Lightning by The Wonder Years

With his costume stripped away, tools and gadgets stolen to be taken apart by the tech department, face bare of the mysterious mask that usually protected his identity, he looked like the young man that he really was. Goodwin had seen Nightwing in action, just once, when a case had led him on the trail of Waller and her secrets. He’d seemed larger than life, moving with such grace and lethal precision that it seemed impossible for him to not be a metahuman. It had been confirmed, just to be certain, once he’d been taken into custody- Nightwing did not possess the metagene. Now, Goodwin could see him without the rose-tinted glasses. This was not a superhero. This was a young man, manipulated since childhood and raised as a soldier. 

This was not right. 

“Why don’t you tell me about Robin, Richard?” Doctor Torres began, organising the folder she placed upon the table. A couple of photos slipped out, probably intentionally. There was a blurry shot of Robin, one of the very first appearances of Batman’s partner. It was clearly taken from a distance, zoomed in until little could actually be made out. It was just clear enough, however, to recognise the Boy Wonder’s gaudy colours and to see how tiny and young he appeared next to the hulking figure of the criminal that he was apprehending.  
The other was a clipping from a newspaper. Goodwin could remember when the story broke, renowned playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne suddenly taking in a child. The photo was from the first public appearance of the duo, Richard clinging tightly to the hand of his new guardian, half hidden behind his much larger frame. He still looked bright, though. Although small, there was a performers smile plastered upon his face.

Nightw- Richard’s eyes barely even strayed to the photos, glancing briefly to acknowledge their presence before turning his attention to glare resolutely at the door. Goodwin had been on the day watch since the day he was brought in, inhibitor collar tight around his neck despite the lack of superhuman abilities. Normal handcuffs were meaningless when it came to a man raised by Batman, but Lex Luthor had provided a special pair. Bands of metal forced his arms together from just above his elbows, even to the extent that every individual finger was separated from the other, eliminating any chance of the trickery expected from a Bat. They didn’t even have a hinge or lock, seamlessly secured by powerful magnets developed by LexCorp. When Goodwin had told him just who had provided the cuffs, he’d just laughed, the only comment being “Of course he did.” 

For the first couple of weeks of his detainment, he’d laughed a lot. Every time he’d been questioned, Richard had evaded answering with wisecracks and puns. It had taken the news of the capture of the other kids that Batman had raised so brutally to to shut him up. Since then he’d simply remained silent, brooding. 

“Richard?” Doctor Torres prompted. She was one of the brightest psychologists in the world, brought in by the government to try and crack Nightwing. Since the identity of the Bat and his brood had been revealed to the world, the man himself had managed to disappear. It was his children that the federal government managed to move in on. Goodwin heard that Waller had dedicated her entire suicide squad to the capture of Nightwing. He had winced internally in sympathy.  
“I want to see my siblings.” 

It was the first word to come out of him for a couple of days, so his voice was scratchy and croaky. Still, his tone was demanding.  
“That can’t happen,” Torres told him, “Your… siblings as you call them, are minors. They’re being treated accordingly. You, however, are an adult complicit in this abuse. It would be harmful for you to be anywhere near them when you are likely to be a setback to their recovery.” 

Goodwin was never good at being heartless. Sure, he believed strongly in his duty and would never compromise it, but it did tug on his heartstrings. Despite everything, despite all that he had endured and all that he had seen, this was a man who cared deeply about those kids. It was just a shame that they had been brought together by someone who would raise them so wrongly, twisting them to fit his own vengeful crusade.  
“Abuse,” Richard repeated in disbelief.  
Torres took a breath, steadying herself before her professional persona cracked. For all of her accomplishments she’d never had such a complex case, especially one with such unique circumstances, “Yes, abuse. You won’t tell me anything, but the timeline suggests that you became Robin as a nine-year-old. At the age of nine, Bruce Wayne took you into his home, trained you and then sent you out to the streets of the most crime-ridden city in the country to catch criminals. I think it’s fair to call that abusive.”  
“Call it what you want.” 

“Do you even understand the situation that you’re in?” It took all of the psychologist’s self-control not to shout. Instead, her voice came out tight with emotion, “They’re seriously considering sending you to Belle Reve. Not Blackgate, not even Arkham. That’s a metahuman prison, Richard. It houses only the most heinous and the most dangerous of criminals, many of which at some time or another you contributed to putting away. Is that what you want?”  
“It doesn’t really matter where they send me,” Was the vague answer. Still, this was the most engaged that he’d been in a while. He was actually holding a conversation, as noncommittal as he might be to revealing any useful information. 

“I can help you,” Torres tried, “My report is significant in determining what will happen to you. If you talk to me, we can figure something out for you.”  
“Nah, I’m good,” The young man shrugged flippantly. The motion resulted in an ever so discreet wince, tugging on muscles that must be tight and sore from his detainment. The cuffs had rarely been released, only briefly on a few occasions when Richard was far too heavily sedated to have a prayer of resistance.  
Glancing at the clock, Torres finally began to gather her papers, “You understand, don’t you, how monumental this really is? It was different behind the masks, when people could pretend that you didn’t exist other than when you were saving the world. Everyone pretended to be ignorant when it came out that there was a covert team of children. But now that your names and faces are out there, now that people know your stories, they won’t stand for it anymore.”  
She was met with a cold, blue gaze, unwavering. But behind that, behind the facade of detachment and calm, was a riot.  
Before leaving, Torres decided to drop him one more line to chew on until she came to talk to him again, “The Justice League will not survive this.” 

***  
Finally, the cuffs were off. It had been a few weeks now and Goodwin had been on primary guard duty for Nightwing long enough that he felt responsible for the young man. Progress had been slow, but they finally had a cell that Waller approved of to hold him. It probably wouldn’t be long until Goodwin was transferred. 

He also knew that patience was running out. There was immense public pressure on the government to find the Batman and shut down the Justice League. It was kind of hypocritical, he couldn’t help but muse; it had been over a decade since child heroes had first appeared and there had been no uproar. The people were content to allow these kids to face terrible threats, risk their lives day in day out. It took a name, a face, a tragic backstory for the moral superiority to hit. 

“They’re not going to wait much longer,” Goodwin finally said, watching Richard going through a very complicated-looking routine of stretches, “If you don’t give them something, the methods are going to get rougher.”  
“Are they?” The young man answered with disinterest. His focus was completely on working the pain and tenseness out of his muscles. However, after a few moments of silence he spoke again, “You won’t let me see them, but are my siblings safe?”  
Goodwin blinked, startled to actually have his charge talking to him, “I’m assigned exclusively to you, but I’m sure I would’ve heard anything important.” 

Maybe he would’ve continued if the conversation, if at that precise moment the purposeful click of heels hadn’t begun to approach. Doctor Torres returned, this time accompanied by Amanda Waller herself. The Task Force X founder stopped outside Richard’s cell, Now Goodwin had his own fair share of experiences that had qualified him for his current role, but there was something about the intensity of Waller that had his toes curling. She paid him no attention anyway, turning her penetrating gaze on the man in the cell.  
“Doctor Torres tells me that you’re not talking,” Her voice was cutting, somehow managing to promise terrible things in eight monotonous words, “You better give me something to work with Grayson, or it’ll be one of the other little sidekicks that join my task force next.”  
Richard was already showing more emotion than he had the entire time of his detainment. His mere existence was intense, constantly exuding an air of competence and responsibility but in Waller’s presence he suddenly appeared deadly. He had stilled, bristling as he turned to glare, “You put bombs in their heads. It’s one thing doing that to mass murderers, but do you really think you can just do that to kids?”  
“You’ll see what I can do if you don’t talk,” Waller didn’t react in any visible way, not betraying a response to Richard’s words.  
Richard turned his lethal stare to the corner of his cell instead, as though he couldn’t even bear to look at her anymore, “What do you even want from me? You can’t want Batman locked up; he’s more useful out there than in here.” 

Amazingly, Waller remained quiet whilst she formulated her answer. She wasn’t a considerate woman, more of a force of nature that would beat down anything until it gave her what she wanted. She tended to only speak to give orders and make demands and any other use of speech was generally considered a waste.  
“You were the first child hero, the eldest child of Batman, a founder of the League’s covert team and, although not officially a member, I’m not stupid enough to think that you’re not involved in the doings of the Justice League. You have information on every hero active in the United States and if you had any real interest in protecting the security of this country you’d share it.”  
“So it’s compromise the entire League or let my siblings join your suicide squad?”  
The expression on Waller’s face could almost be described as satisfied, “Precisely. I expect to hear soon.” 

With that, she stalked away. Before Richard could shut down again, Torres quickly moved forward to where Waller had stood and addressed him, “As your psychologist, I don’t think it’s the best idea to expect you start spilling sensitive information immediately. However, we can start small. If you start telling me some things, it’ll take some of the pressure off you.”  
“Yeah?” He held her gaze steadily, “Like what?”

It appeared as though Torres had already prepared for this, as she had a response ready, “Tell me how you got the scars on your hands.”  
“My hands?” Richard hadn’t been expecting that. Neither had Goodwin, to be fair. He hadn’t read it in detail, but as part of the preparation for his new role he’d skim-read the medical records that Leslie Thompkins, the doctor that had secretly aided Batman and his army of children from the beginning, had released when the news of their identities broke. Apparently, as the years passed, she grew more and more disillusioned with the Bat’s war on crime, tired of stitching children back together just to send them out to be torn apart again. 

The record on Richard was extensive. Having been active since he was nine, facing off against all manner of violent, twisted individuals, his body had taken a good few beatings. Honestly, part of the reason Goodwin didn’t read too deeply was because it made him feel ill to imagine such terrible injuries being inflicted on someone so young. Richard’s body was riddled with history; burns and brands and scars that even Doctor Thompkins appeared to only know the basics of how they were acquired. Compared to the other evidence of what he had endured, his hands were barely notable. His knuckles, even now, were slightly discoloured from bruises. Both hands were speckled with a series of fine, silvery scars particularly along his fingers. Curious, perhaps, but incomparable to other wounds. 

Richard appeared to be considering. Since Waller had left the true, burning anger had faded but he remained tightly coiled, his body language screaming that he was ready for a fight. He studied Torres’ face, searching for something although Goodwin couldn’t say what. What it was and whether he found it or not, he seemed satisfied. He leaned back slightly, not entirely relaxing but loosening up a little.  
“When I was nine,” He said evenly, his tone determinedly void of emotion, “I missed the circus. I tried using a crystal chandelier as a trapeze, but apparently they’re not made for kids to swing on. It broke, I fell and the crystal cut my hands.” 

It was not an answer that either of them had been anticipating. Torres did her best to quickly blanken her expression, but she didn’t manage to disguise the fleeting surprise that flickered across her face. Goodwin didn’t bother trying to school his expression, outwardly betraying his own shock. It was odd to remember that, among the years of crime-fighting, there must have been moments that Richard was a normal child. Or as normal as an orphan from the circus could possibly be. 

“Now, you tell me something,” Richard said. It wasn’t quite a demand, but uttered with the tone of someone expecting to get what they wanted.  
“What is it you want to know?” Torres responded guardedly. Now that he was actually talking, she couldn’t afford to allow him to talk circles around her.  
“What’s going on outside?” Although his tone was casual, Goodwin could tell that the kid was hiding his concern for the people he loved, “The members of the League and the Team. Where are they?” 

The doctor pondered his question. There was potential for an honest answer to be both helpful and harmful. Regardless of what anyone else was thinking, she had hope for Richard. Many important figures felt as though he was a lost cause and would be better off locked up and the key thrown away. Torres, however, saw a young man who, despite spending much of his life being manipulated and abused, simply wanted to do some good. There was value in that, but she didn’t want to ruin any baby steps to recovery by telling him too much. 

She felt his eyes on her. They weren’t the eyes of a man- a boy really- in his early twenties, just beginning to grow up and see the world. They were the eyes of someone tired, someone who had been through things more terrible than most could even go so far as to imagine. It was then that she decided that she couldn’t lie to him, or hide the truth. He’d know and when he knew he’d shut straight back down.  
“Most members are still at large,” She told him honestly, eyeing the subtle shift in his body as he came about as close as he ever would to sagging in relief, “Other identities are also unknown; it’s you and the other kids that are being relied on to eventually break and share more information.

“I’m going to show you one more thing,” Torres continued, “This is solely because I hope that you’ll understand that the world has finally opened its eyes and will not simply stand by while children are used as weapons and tools.” 

From among the various files and papers she had in her bag, she produced a tablet. Richard watched with mild interest, returning to his ridiculous routine of stretches whilst he waited for her to pull up whatever she was looking for. Although the doctor couldn’t give the tablet to him to hold, she pressed play on a video and help it up for him to see. 

Vast crowds gathered before the Hall of Justice; the building was empty, with the golden arcs looking dull without the lights. Thousands of people had turned out to protest, a huge writhing mass of anger and dissent. There were banners, signs and placards, all protesting the League- Goodwin noticed the slight clench of Richard’s jaw when he recognised his own face, immortalised in his childhood, being held up as a symbol. 

It was difficult to make out with the slightly tinny audio from the tablet, but there was a chant rising from the agitated people. Initially it was low, localised among the front rows. However, it seemed to spread with ease, blazing a trail into the farthest depths of the agitated people, becoming more and more audible as it picked up traction. 

“THIS IS NOT JUSTICE.” 

“Do you understand now?” Torres appealed, a slight hint of desperation seeping into her tone, “This is not something the Justice League can come back from. Your only option is to move forward to something new.”  
But Richard was shaking his head, “They’ll say that now, but when the next extraterrestrial or world-ending threat comes along they’ll soon forget. The Justice League formed because there are things out there that no one else is equipped to face.”  
“You think that people will get over using children to face them that easily?”  
“Of course,” Was the answer, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, “No one cared when kid heroes started turning up, 

“This is not the end of the Justice League.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally set this in the YJ cartoon universe because it has a better established timeline due to the lack of reboots and retcons like the general comics universe. However, when it came to deciding at which point in the Batfamily timeline it was and who should be included, I just decided to fuck it and include everyone (except Harper and Cullen so far but like... maybe in a bit) because this is my fic. Initially, I just didn't want to leave Duke out but then came Helena and then Luke so... Basically the comics universe and YJ are mashed together bc I wanted Artemis as well. Although I can rant forever about how whack the YJ cartoon is in terms of the comicverse.  
> Anyway, this is kind of a mess but... sucks to be the reader I guess.

The camera zoomed in dramatically, closing in until the shot was entirely filled with a woman’s face, eyes blazing with fury as she spoke. Her tone, though clipped and measured, barely disguised the force of her ire, “There are hundreds of questions that need to be answered, so much information missing. It’s taking days for the authorities to take apart Wayne Manor and investigate the activities of Wayne Enterprises. Very little has been shared with the public so far, but once those investigations are over and those in custody start talking, we’ll get answers. However, there is one of those questions that I personally feel is the most pressing of all.”  
The tag rolling just below her face identified her as Elizabeth Carson, the chairwoman of a prominent organisation that aimed to protect human rights with a particular emphasis on children. 

The host of the show appeared the sense of the significance of what she was about to say. Usually a flamboyant man, using the excess of his huge personality to prompt guests until they shone, he remained oddly restrained. He leaned forward in his seat as the shot widened to include him, “And what is that?”  
“What’s the truth behind the death of Jason Todd?”

***

An elbow jabbed painfully into her ribs as the crowd surged and it took the best of her reflexes to prevent her eye from suffering the same fate. It was uncomfortable in the crowd, thousands of people packed so closely together that even their sweat was mixing. Artemis allowed herself to be carried along by the force of everyone around her struggling to get closer to the front; their proximity meant that her bow was absolutely out of the question and it left her feeling naked when surrounded by so many angry people. 

A guy caught her eye, smiled grimly whilst using his bulky build to give her space to breathe. He wasn’t one of those with the huge banners and signs, but a badge was pinned to the lapel of his jacket with a vivid red line over the Justice League logo.  
“You okay?” He leaned down to shout in her ear, “It’s getting a little crazy.”  
“I’m good,” Artemis forced a smile, then probed for more information, “People are really angry, huh?”  
The man frowned slightly, raising his voice even more, “Well, sure. It’s about time the world got outraged. It’s bad enough that the Justice League was letting literal children go out fighting criminals and hostile aliens, but for some rich guy to be making himself a personal army out of disadvantaged kids? I hope Bruce Wayne dies as violently as his parents.”  
His words clearly resonated deeply with those in close proximity, as a loud cheer rang out, spreading among the whole crowd. 

Artemis disguised her flinch with a nod. From that perspective, she could understand why people were angry. Maybe if she hadn’t been who she was, if she had been born as a normal girl with parents who had never been assassins, she would share that outrage. The image of nine-year-old Dick Grayson, freshly orphaned and torn away from everyone and everything he’d ever known, pulling on a uniform in his family colours and heading out to face the very worst society could produce was a powerful one. It was why his had become the face of the protest; the start of a legacy that would keep stealing children away into the darkness. 

So okay, it sounded bad from the outside. It made sense that Bruce Wayne, Batman, would suddenly be viewed by the public as an irredeemable villain. But Artemis had seen the other side. Batman may have locked his emotions away behind a cold, empty facade but behind it was it was still Bruce; perhaps a little clumsy, even incompetent when it came to feelings, but with a fierce love and protectiveness for his children all the same. She’d been there after missions when he’d carried an exhausted Dick home, when he’d done the same for Jason and Tim. She remembered an abrupt end to Wayne Enterprises partnerships because someone’s lips had gotten too loose at a gala and spilled terrible thoughts about the Wayne kids. The hours he’d spent hovering at bedsides as a Robin, or a Batgirl, or any of Gotham’s protectors recovered from illness and injury. 

The absolute heartbreak when Jason died. 

The new wave of scrutiny over that was difficult to bear. In all the years since, there had been rumours and conspiracy theories that there had been more to it. Whispers that it didn’t make sense, that Wayne was hiding something. That they had been proven right ignited a swarm of new theories on the second Robin- Artemis just ached, remembering the kid with a chip on his shoulder whose tough facade had just started to fade, the spark of a sweet, thoughtful kid barely being able to emerge before he died. 

No one on the League had shared if they’d heard anything from Batman. As far as Artemis was aware none of them had, although she was suspicious of Superman. She was certain that the kryptonian had long since memorised the heartbeats of those close to him and she knew that Batman certainly qualified. But he wasn’t sharing, regardless of how many times Artemis or anyone else asked or begged or yelled. In fact, the League had said nothing at all, not even going so far as to release a public statement. They just seemed to be waiting for everyone to forget; next time someone tried to steal the sun, Superman would turn up with that big ‘S’ emblazoned across his front and everyone would suddenly remember that he stood for hope. 

Suddenly exhausted, Artemis slipped out of the crowd. The space that she had vacated was filled almost instantly. No one even gave her a second glance, too caught up in their own righteousness that a single young woman escaping the mob wasn’t enough to register. She had failed to gain any new information, only reinforced the intensity of the people’s anger, but she could hardly bring herself to care. Her entire world had fractured. 

With that weariness settled deep within her bones, she trudged back to the zeta. How could she possibly make anyone understand without making herself vulnerable? How could these people, raw with their desire for justice, possibly accept her reasons for fighting criminals so young without hearing how she had been raised? The only weapon she had against them, the only way she could possibly defend herself and the team she’d grown up with was to bear her secrets, her violent family history. The only way to condone what she had become was to disclose what she had run from becoming. 

A figure waited for her in the alley that housed the zeta beam. Taller now, broader in a way that didn’t match up with the scrappy kid he’d once been, Jason Todd met her with a bitter smile. Wordlessly, they returned to Gotham. 

***

The glass was one way, but the way that Richard’s hard gaze was fixed on it,you might think that he was hoping for the kid on the other side to notice him. In return for information on the Bats safehouses in Gotham, as well as the codes to get in, he had been allowed to see his siblings for himself. The other kids didn’t know about it, only that they had been moved to an interrogation room. He’d spotted the way that Richard’s jaw had clenched minutely at that, irritated, but ultimately accepting of the condition. He seemed as desperate as he would ever show to be able to assure their wellbeing with his own eyes. Goodwin couldn’t really blame him for his mistrust- Waller wasn’t exactly the most benevolent and had already threatened them with Task Force X. If he had any younger siblings, he’d also want to make sure that they were okay. 

Okay referring solely to their physical wellbeing. The littlest one, Damian, had raged. At every opportunity he was lashing out, with fists and nails and teeth, with acidic remarks when he was cuffed. From what Goodwin had gathered, the child had been raised among assassins and even the regimented vigilantism of his biological father was a soft upbringing compared to being with his mother. His violence, and worse, his proficiency at it as a mere ten year old had caused some shock. It was one thing to hear about children in these terrible positions, but witnessing it was a whole other scenario. 

Duke, the most recent addition to the family, had kept his mouth shut. A smart kid, carefully balancing self-preservation with protecting the others. He let slip minor stuff, just enough to mostly keep people like Waller of his back whilst maintaining the narrative that he was too new, he hadn’t been accepted into the fold enough to really know anything. He had enough on his plate otherwise, with a metapower that no one could really fully explain other than it was definitely related to light. 

Cassandra, the mysterious girl who had been plucked seemingly from thin air, was apparently mute. She’d been remarkably blank without even a hint of recognition when they’d tried communicating with her through ASL. Still, watching her through the glass, Goodwin instinctively knew that she understood everything. He’d heard that she’d been a nightmare to bring in; practically invincible in terms of combat, responding to attacks before they’d even begun. Her weakness had been her loyalty towards Tim and Stephanie who, whilst competent fighters, were far from her level. No one seemed to know how they’d have managed to arrest her if she had been alone. 

Stephanie had been mouthy, but in the manner of a terrified teenager overcompensating. In distinct contrast to Cassandra’s stony silence, her mouth never seemed to stop running. Even with the slight shake to her voice, the way her eyes flickered restlessly, she steeled herself and refused to back down. To Goodwin, she was a reminder of how the system failed kids like her; daughter of a failed supervillain, throwing herself out into the very depths of danger to do some good. Risking her life and giving up on a real childhood to do better by others than had been done to her. Goodwin at least had hope for her- her mother was making a racket about having her daughter returned to her, so at least Wayne wasn’t the closest thing she had to a parental figure. 

Timothy had been a little unnerving. Vastly intelligent, observing everything with an analytical gaze. Goodwin had been certain for a moment, from the way he had stared at the mirror, that he knew exactly what was going on. That his brother was on the other side, relieved that they weren’t hurt but deeply wounded by their isolation. Timothy tended to appear beyond his years until suddenly he’d react in a way or use a turn of phrase that abruptly reminded you that he was still just a kid. 

The tension had bled out of Richard’s shoulders at the sight of his siblings, unharmed. However, he didn’t completely relax, turning to glare at where Waller hovered ominously by the door.  
“You said that you had Batwoman and Alfred as well,” His tone was measured. It was a risk to press and Goodwin internally winced at the woman’s unyielding glare. Despite the way that her presence never failed to make him uncomfortable, he had respect for her. After what had happened to her own children and husband, all of which were practically suicide to mention anywhere near her, she had waged a war on crime unlike anything the US had seen before. Nothing would ever make her yield; she’d refused to bend to Gods, let alone an exhausted looking twenty-something.  
“The deal was for you to personally assure the physical health of your ‘siblings’,” Goodwin could hear the sneer in her voice at that last word. Clearly, Richard did too but he wasn’t stupid enough to comment on it, “It’s my understanding that that does not include Katherine Kane.” 

“They’re still part of the family.”  
“A family is it?” Waller’s expression remained blank, but the scorn in her tone was unmistakable, “Perhaps you should share the names of other family members. It won’t be long until Oracle, Batwing and Huntress are found. I might be willing to be lenient if you make things easier.”  
An acidic smile crept onto his face, “You’ve not got Huntress yet? Damn, I really owe her an apology next time I see her. I underestimated her.”  
“Next time you see her will be in my custody. When she is, she’ll be straight onto Task Force X along with the rest of your so called family. You, however, can stay locked up here, wondering whether they survived or not.” 

Richard- no, the steel in his eyes couldn’t belong to anyone other than the hero Nightwing. Perhaps it was frustration, or even stupidity, but there wasn’t a hint of intimidation in his expression as he focused the full intensity of that hard blue gaze on Waller. With that cocky smirk returning, he ground out three simple words, “You can try.” 

Waller’s eyes flashed. Like a spectre, she suddenly appeared far too close to him to be comfortable. With him bound by the LexCorp cuffs, plus extra security to ensure that he remained unable to escape the hard metal chair he was in, she towered over him. With poison in her tone, she leaned right into his face and hissed, “I’ve spent enough years breaking the worst scum of this earth that you barely even pose a challenge. I’m going to cleanse the streets of criminals and Bruce Wayne’s little army is not getting in my way. I know exactly what it will take to break you, Nightwing, and if you don’t give me what I want that’s what’s going to happen.” 

Then she leaned back, perfectly composed and walked away. The kid barely looked ruffled, although there was the slightest contemplative crease in his forehead. He didn’t seem to be concerned about the consequences of that particular encounter, but Goodwin certainly was. He was practically condemned. 

***  
Artemis knew that something was wrong the moment that she reached her apartment. Carefully closing the door behind her, her fingers reached discreetly up her sleeve to pull out the knife that she kept there. It rested comfortably in her hands, almost as familiar as her bow. Nothing was out of place, but the hairs on her arms stood up as she sensed an intruder. 

It wasn’t what she expected. 

In her living room was Batman. For a moment she just looked at him blankly, eyes boring into the blanked out lenses of his cowl. He looked more messed up than she could ever remember seeing him, favouring his left side and with a number of scratches and tears that apparently weren’t worth being stitched up. Even like this, he screamed authority. 

Artemis was used to it by now. Once you’ve been around him enough, even Batman doesn’t really cut it when it comes to fear and intimidation. Over the years, his ominous hovering had become something of a familiarity. She remembered teasing Dick about it, back when he was still Robin. Back before any of this had happened. 

Then, unexpectedly, he took his cowl down. The face of Bruce Wayne stared back at her now, haggard in a way that she was unprepared for. He’d never displayed any kind of weakness, too paranoid among aliens and Amazons and space cops to remind anyone that beneath the Bat was just a man. When he spoke, his voice was rough from the growl of Batman- these weeks since his identity got revealed, since nearly all of Gotham’s protectors got arrested, had not been idle. He’d been investigating, plotting and planning. Now, he had come to her.  
“Artemis,” Batman said, “I’m going to get my children back.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really made it difficult for myself expanding from beyond the YJ cartoon universe. I tended to write YJ simply because it was a bit more concise than the entire DC universe and it had a more coherent timeline, but I didn't want to write the Batfam without characters like Duke that aren't in YJ. But I actually kind of hate the mash-up YJ is, considering it's like half Titans, half Young Justice, mixing up different generations. One day I'll get a Titans cartoon with the original Titans like I deserve.

Richard didn’t seem particularly inclined to talk today. Goodwin could tell from the blunt line to his mouth, lacking both the cocky smirk and the dissatisfied downturn that regularly appeared. For days, he and Torres had been playing their complex little games, dancing around each other, giving a little then pulling right back. Waller, at least, had kept her distance but she must have been breathing down Torres’ neck from the way the woman seemed more focused on information than therapy. It was disappointing; the doctor was exceptional, both in her capabilities and her pure intentions to help her patients. Yet even that had been sullied. 

The cuffs were back. Goodwin himself had developed a distaste for them, knowing how much they hurt the kid. He never said or did anything to express his pain but Goodwin had been around long enough now to start to pick up on the tiniest expressions of emotion. 

Something was different today. He could sense it, knew that Richard’s silence was a response to the same feeling. Torres seemed more relaxed, less anxious than when she was struggling to extract information for Waller to use.  
“I want to talk more about your medical history today,” She began, rifling through the hefty folder she brought with her to each session, “We can discuss the situations in which you obtained your injuries, as well as the circumstances that led you there. Okay?”  
Richard’s face remained carefully closed, “Not particularly.” 

As expected, Torres ignored him, “I’d like to start with your knee, actually. The files we received from Leslie Thompkins stated that it was originally caused by blunt force trauma, but it has been repeatedly aggravated since. Could you tell me more about that please, Richard?”  
His motion was greatly limited, but somehow he still managed a flippant shrug, “Got hit. In the knee.”  
“Yes, I understand that but I would like to discuss more about who hit you and why. Can you tell me more?” Her tone remained gentle and calming, as though she was talking to a wounded animal. Goodwin supposed that reality wasn’t really too far off.  
“Stopped someone doing criminal things and they got mad about it. The usual.” 

“Okay…” Torres turned away, intently flipping through the pages of her file. She seemed to spend a moment contemplating two different reports, before finally settling on one, “You were shot in the shoulder when you were seventeen. How did that happen?”  
Goodwin watched carefully, noting the flicker of irritation in the young man’s expression that very rarely appeared. Alongside the minute stiffening of his posture and the brief quirk of distaste to his mouth, it became as clear as it ever would that this particular wound held significance. Even so, he quickly recovered and responded with a tone as light as always, “You already know that I was Robin. The occasional beating comes with the job.” 

Torres lunged at that like a starving dog suddenly being thrown a bone, “Beatings such as what you endured at the hands of Two Face at the age of nine?”  
For a moment, there was nothing. Goodwin almost felt himself holding his breath, sensing the electric tension that sparked in the air. Richard straightened up, instantly dropping his loose, easy-going persona. His expression remained carefully neutral, but somehow a quiet fury invaded the atmosphere. When he spoke, his tone was deliberately bare of emotion in a way that promised a terrible ire. Despite all his experience, Goodwin barely suppressed a shudder.  
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” 

Torres swallowed, hard. She didn’t enjoy pressing her patients, especially when it was about such traumatic experiences. But sometimes it was necessary; they needed to be shocked into realising that they should not have endured what they had. In front of her was someone who had been taken advantage of as a particularly vulnerable child. He had lost his parents, violently. He had lost his home and his entire culture when he had been forced to stay in Gotham whilst the circus moved on. Then, whilst he was struggling to deal with all of that trauma, Bruce Wayne had swept in to raise him as a soldier in his own personal war on crime. 

“We’re not getting anywhere,” The doctor stood, collecting the papers she carried with her almost everywhere. Ignoring the barely detectable relief, she looked directly into Richard’s eyes as she spoke, “There’s someone here that you might be more willing to talk to.” 

It was a bit of a low blow. She knew that he would immediately think of his siblings, or the two adults that he had been told were also in custody. Even if he was too smart to truly anticipate being able to talk to them, there would be a spark of hope. 

Instead, Leslie Thompkins entered. The poor woman looked haggard, completely and utterly weathered by the stress of the last few months. Not only had she been suffering from having to see those she almost considered family be exposed, hunted and then locked up, but the public aggression from her own role in the creation of the so-called Batfamily had been intense. She'd been moved into witness protection, most likely saving her life, but that couldn't protect her from her suffering. 

"Dick," Her voice trembled, choking on the single syllable. Leslie was a tough woman; not only had she seen the very worst Gotham had to give, but it had been unable to shake her unbreakable values, her unwavering promise to do her utmost to save every life she could, regardless of the crimes of the patient. It took events of extraordinary magnitude to hurt her so deeply that she could barely look this young man, whom she'd watched grow from a child, in the eye.  
"Leslie," Richard's voice held none of its previous malice. Rather, it held an innocence that Goodwin hadn't imagined him capable of, "You're here… willingly?" 

"I walked away from it. My love for Bruce, for that poor child who lost his parents, blinded me to everything. The very first night he put on that suit, I thought that it was ridiculous and I told him as such. So did Alfred, the poor man. But Bruce insisted, swore that Gotham needed Batman and when had Alfred and I ever been able to tell him no? So we supported him as best we could."  
"Gotham does need Batman," Richard said, deliberately ignoring the rest. 

Leslie smiled sadly, but carried on without really acknowledging his words, "Batman provided results. He built the symbol of fear that he believed the city needed and it worked. But it was at a terrible cost. He began to lose himself, sinking further and further into the darkness. He became possessed, recklessly throwing himself into cases one after the other, barely allowing me to treat one injury before he went out and gained enough. Alfred and I could only wait, terrified each time he left that he wouldn't come back. Until one night he went to the circus and in the horror of that night, found his light. Shortly after that, Robin appeared. I've spent years trying to justify to myself why I didn't put my foot down there, why I didn't force him to stop when he brought a child into it. The only answer I've ever been able to find was that I was willing to sacrifice a child just to see Bruce, whom I almost considered my own son, return to himself a little. It was the most selfish decision of my life and one that I'll never be forgiven for."  
"I chose to be Robin," Richard argued, unwavering in his faith, "I was already going out to try and catch Zucco. Without Bruce, there would have been no justice for my parents and I would've never been able to move on. I would've probably gotten myself killed trying to do it myself. Robin existed before Batman and Robin- Bruce agreed to train me and let me help because if he didn't I was going to do it anyway. Alone."

In his mind, Goodwin had an endless list of reasons why that was false, why a child should never have been a vigilante. Again, he pictured his own children. To see the extent of this man's faith in his father despite everything he had been through was heartbreaking. It was clear that he was full of love, but that had been twisted and manipulated into something ugly and wrong. Anger pulsed through his blood, but Goodwin remained still and silent. His job was to defend and protect, not intervene 

"Once I had accepted you, it was difficult not to justify the others," Leslie continued. Her voice trembled, catching on her words, but she soldiered on, "Barbara, Jason, Tim, Cass… Everything that happened, I couldn't bring myself to leave. I silently stitched you back up when you got hurt, silently supported you even when Jason was murdered… that should have been it. But I was a coward in far too deep.” 

Richard didn’t appear to have much to say to that. His face twisted with grief at the mention of the second Robin- Goodwin was certain that this was the first confirmation that the public story of Jason Todd’s death was a lie. Not that, once their identities had been revealed, it hadn’t been easy to figure out that it was more than an unfortunate accident that the fifteen year old had happened to be caught up in that explosion. 

“And then Stephanie died,” Leslie paused at that, leaning heavily on the arms of her chair to steady herself. Talking seemed to exhaust her, the emotional labour of having to recall all her years complicit in the weaponization of vulnerable children draining her energy, “Finally, I woke up. What had started from just Bruce making a choice to risk his own life for what he believed was necessary had grown far beyond that. I put my foot down and walked away.” 

Goodwin recalled the blonde girl somewhere in another cell, her nervous chatter failing to disguise the fire in her eyes. She was so vibrant, so full of life that it was difficult to associate her with the talk of death occurring before him. Goodwin had seen people die. It came with the job. Being able to come back from it was something reserved for another world, the world of superheroes, of metahumans and aliens. A world that these kids shouldn’t belong to, but had somehow become pillars of. 

“I already know all of this,” Richard’s eyes were sad as he spoke, holding a pain far beyond his years, “I can only assume that you’ve already told them as well. So what are you really here for, Leslie?”  
The older woman remained quiet for a long moment, bracing herself. The wrinkles in her face seemed more pronounced than they had a few weeks ago. Her hands held a new tremble, no longer the steady hands of a doctor. Something had broken within her, a woman practically forged from steel, “There’s something that’s been on my mind for years. I’ve tried to ignore it and bury it as it disgusts me that I could possibly call myself a doctor, that I treat patients with these thoughts in my head. I can hardly stand to acknowledge it but I think that I must confess…”  
“Leslie?” There was a hint of confusion now, an uncertainty that he had carefully compressed during his captivity.  
“Dick…” The doctor forced herself to meet his gaze, staring directly into the familiar eyes of that child she had met so many years ago, “When I look at you, I see the beginning of it all. All of these child heroes look up to you; they see the first Robin, the start of a legacy that should never have existed. I remember that night, when you had only been active for a few months. There was no Kid Flash, Aqualad, no Speedy yet. That night Two Face met you with two firsts; the first time your mistake caused a civilian death and the first time you were almost killed. It took months for you to recover. And truly… sometimes I wish you hadn’t.

“I swore to do my utmost to save every life I could, regardless of the circumstances. I did not hesitate to save yours, although I can’t help but think you survived due to your own tenacity. You were hurt so badly, I didn’t even dare hope that you’d pull through. But now, all these years later, I sometimes wish that you didn’t. I wish that Two Face had succeeded in killing you that night, because it might have saved the lives of countless children who followed your path. In addition to being Bruce’s light, you became the light to every child hero who followed in your footsteps. But you led them astray.”  
“We all made choices,” Although Richard was an expert in disguising his emotions some things were just felt too strongly to hide. Under his carefully adjusted facial expression, it absolutely shattered him. 

“It was our jobs as the adults to make sure you made the right ones,” Leslie wasn’t any less shattered, “We failed.” 

***  
A shriek echoed ominously in the vast emptiness of the warehouse. A bird was startled out of its roost, disappearing within moments and leaving nothing more than a flurry of feathers behind. Otherwise, the cry remained unanswered; there was no one around to respond. Only those who revelled in the fear remained. 

The source was a man, choking on his own sobs as he dangled uselessly from a thick wire bound to his ankle. Above him, a formless black mass loomed, impervious to his terror, unshaken by his pleading. 

“Tell me what you know.” 

A demand. A deep, gravelly tone that spared no pity. A creature of the night, what was once a man transformed to a beast that lived for one purpose alone. The man tried futilely to reach something, anything, that he could hold onto. But there was nothing. No one escapes the Bat. With a jolt, he was in freefall again- a punishment for his lack of compliance.  
As he plummeted he began to yell, “I’m sorry! I swear- I swear I’ll talk!” 

For a moment, there was nothing. He continued to fall. Then he abruptly came to a halt. A howl was torn from him as the wire tightened, boring deep red trenches into his skin. Pain burst forth from his hip as something popped, his leg pulled out of place.  
“Tell me where my children are.” 

Knowing the face behind the Bat did nothing to hinder the fear he manifested. In fact, knowing precisely the cause of this unforgiving ferocity made him all the more fearsome. Batman had rules; one could expect to come out of an encounter a little worse for wear, but alive and certainly not maimed. Bruce Wayne, however, with his children stolen from him and his identity exposed, could not be relied on to be quite so compliant. This was new territory. 

Through his sobs, the man managed to choke out his information. His eyes closed, too afraid to confront an angry Bat. When he opened them again, he was alone. 

***

Artemis couldn’t help but think how odd it was for all these people to be in the same place without arguing as she cast her gaze upon the odd gathering in her living room. There were so many combinations that tended to rub each other the wrong way, but that had been pushed aside in favour of an unwavering focus on the mission at hand. Apparently, the best place for vigilantes to gather when all their bases in Gotham were inaccessible was her apartment. She could deal. 

The novelty of personally knowing Batman had worn off sometime after her first few months on the team. As a child, still firmly under her father’s thumb, he had been her worst nightmare. If Batman caught her, she had been told, she would be alone. Regardless of how they treated her, regardless of their twisted form of love, little Artemis had been terrified of losing her father and sister. When she was little older and finally had her mother back, Batman had been a distant dream. She too wanted to help save her city and protect it from the sickness that clung to it. Then, when she was a little older still she discovered the truth; Batman was just a man. 

Batman, Batwoman, Huntress, Batwing, Oracle, Red Hood and Tigress. All in all, not a bad team to storm one of the most secure government facilities on the planet. There could be more; plenty of league and team members would be more than willing to help out (the lack of meta abilities never prevented the Batman’s kids from being the heart and soul of their teams). But associating any more public heroes would ensure that they’d never be able to dig their way back out of their grave. 

Roy wanted to be there. It physically pained him to stand aside whilst others went to free some of the most important people in the world to him. But Artemis and Roy had discussed it, ultimately agreed that someone needed to be there for Lian if something went wrong. And when it really came down to it, she needed her father. 

Time was of the essence. Regardless of the complexity of relationships (those involving Jason and Helena in particular), this needed to be over and quickly. There was electricity in the air, sparked by the tension and anticipation no one could ignore. Even Bruce, usually so stoic and reluctant to feel any emotion, let alone show it, was restless. He’d planned and planned, a man possessed. Everyone knew their role, had had it drilled relentlessly into their brains. 

There was a silent agreement that arguments and disharmony could wait. The public hadn’t been the only ones shaken by the exposure of their identities. Not only for Batman, not only for his kids locked away, not only for their associates who waited with baited breath to see if their own identities would follow. This entire world of superpowers and superheroes would never be the same. 

But that could wait. First, there was a rescue mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I started something I can't finish here. This kind of fucking sucks but... I'm in too deep at this point we've gotta resolve it somehow.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three major thoughts about this chapter  
> 1) why the fuck did I think even considering Harley Quinn was a good idea? She's so difficult to write  
> 2) I hate having chapters less than 3k words but... well, that's what you've got.  
> 3) I have a special hatred in my heart for this fic bc my writing is so painfully low-quality but people seem to like it okay so I want to reach some conclusion. Originally I was going to end it with this chapter, but nope. That didn't happen.

When the lights went out, Goodwin knew that there was trouble. A sense of foreboding had been rattling uncomfortably around his brain all day, but he felt no satisfaction in having his intuition proved right. He was good at his job; it was why he had been assigned it and also why he was even still alive. A number of dangerous operations had been completed due to his own skill and adaptability more than a dependable plan. Still, there was no part of him that looked forward to another situation in which his abilities would be put to the test. He was violent only by necessity, never taking any joy in what he did. Guarding Richard had been one of his favourite roles of his career; the young man could, when he was in the mood, be quite the pleasant conversational partner. So far, Goodwin had not been required to be particularly cruel to him either. Yet all good things must come to an end. 

Without hesitation, he grabbed hold of the powerful magnetic handcuffs that had been kept on the table near him, seeing very little use recently but ready all the same. Whilst his eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness he took four lengthy strides to reach the door to Richard’s cell, able to navigate easily from the image he had carefully committed to memory precisely for this situation. 

The facility had a layout that wasn’t seen in other prisons or holdings. Rather than corridors lined with cells with heavily bolted steel doors barricading inmates in, the floorplan was intentionally more maze-like. Endless unmarked, identical corridors snaked throughout the building, practically impossible to traverse without prior knowledge. Cells were located at irregular intervals, each within another room with the dual intention of doubling the effort to escape and to enable employees to go about their work with inmates in relative privacy. The cells themselves had different forms, adapted to all manner of metahuman and carefully lined with lead to prevent unwanted Kryptonian interference. 

It should be practically impossible to penetrate, but Waller was a cautious woman and would certainly never make the mistake of underestimating Batman. Regardless of their vastly differing perspectives, they had a grudging respect for each other. It would be a great challenge for Batman to pull off a prison break here. 

As he reached the door to the cell, Goodwin’s eyes became used to the new darkness. As a non-meta, it was deemed acceptable for Richard to be placed in a cell with the outward wall made predominantly of incredibly strong reinforced glass. It would be nothing to the likes of Superman, but there wasn’t a prayer of even the strongest unenhanced human being able to break it. It was decided that this was the best way to imprison someone trained by the Bat; Goodwin would be able to see everything that Nightwing did, significantly reducing the chances of him coming up with some insane plot to escape. 

Richard hadn’t moved from where he had been before the lights went out. He remained in the far corner, cross-legged and deceptively innocent in appearance. However, his muscles had tensed visibly and his head had lifted from where it had been resting on the wall, eyes freshly open and sharp. Since his talk with Leslie Thompkins, he had been oddly silent. Goodwin, somewhat missing the inane conversations they would occasionally have when the boredom got too much, had wondered whether that had been what it took to finally break the young hero. Even when he had been stubbornly quiet, he had never been so defeated. 

Now, however, a spark of life had returned. Unfortunately for Goodwin, that made his job much harder.  
“I don’t know what this is,” Goodwin addressed the young hero before he unlocked the door to the cell, “I just know that it’ll be easier for you if you just allow me to cuff you, then sit tight in your cell.” 

The months of captivity, whilst not what they could have been and likely not as bad physically as previous experiences, hadn’t been kind. Very little physical harm had been done to him and the injuries he’d come in with after his clash with the Suicide Squad had been treated whilst he been under constant sedation. Still, he’d lost weight, muscle deterioration from lack of activity. His skin tone was now pallid, a sickly complexion caused by electric lights. And his eyes- although a quiet strength remained, they looked tired. They were the eyes of a tortured soul, of a man whose spirit had taken a battering. 

“You know me, Goodwin,” Nightwing told him, still stubbornly refusing to be bowed, “I’ve never been one to shut up and do as I was told.”  
In one fluid motion, he rose to his feet. 

Somewhere outside, there was a loud bang. Goodwin sighed. Then he unlocked the door, prepared to fight. 

***  
Cutting the lights had been a good idea. Even some of the most professional panicked when they couldn’t see, making it easy for Artemis to take them out with a discreet tranquilizer dart. They’d gone for a pair system, making it easy to cover more ground whilst preventing the risk of someone getting overwhelmed alone. She’d been paired with Jason; the fledgling friendship from before his death had quite naturally picked back up when he returned. They had none of the complexity of his family, just a simple camaraderie as those from the rougher parts of Gotham. Her history as an assassin helped as well- she got his point about the usefulness of killing, even if she chose not to practice it any longer. 

Oracle was following their progress, meticulously opening doors and cutting camera feeds as and when it was required, returning them to usual functions as soon as they were done. It was part of the plan to make it more difficult to trace where they had already been, reducing the chances of too many guards or employees diverging on one group. So far, it was working. 

There was limited talk on the comm line; usually it might be Nightwing or Spoiler who kept up a constant chatter, lightening the mood even in the most dangerous of situations. Without them, attitudes remained solemn.  
Relief flooded through Artemis when she heard that Huntress and Batwing had found Damian. Helena’s slightly irritable tone disguised relief as she informed them. Despite her generally unpleasant relationship with Batman (he could never make up his mind what he thought about her, and she refused to be told to back down), she had been worried. Moments later, Robin’s voice flooded the line, “Father, you came.” 

The surprise in the kid’s voice sent an ache through Artemis’ heart. Damian had been a shock, to Bruce most of all. It was Dick’s guidance and, more importantly, unwavering love that had helped him grow until he was barely recognisable as the assassin child raised by the Al Ghuls. Although he’d never admit it, he maintained some deep fears. The circumstances of his conception, his blood and his upbringing were not so easily forgotten by some and Dick was constantly trying to show him that he would always be wanted and loved even if he wasn’t the perfect heir that he was designed to be. 

Bruce was… considerably worse at that. The man, whilst a genius in many areas, had never learned to process and accept his emotions, let alone express them. Even those closest to him, like Alfred and Dick, didn’t really understand him. They just understood him a little more than everyone else. Without them to mediate conversations between Damian and his Father could easily turn hostile as they each misinterpreted the other. This often led to an uncertainty as to where they stood and, agonisingly, an eleven-year-old not believing that his Dad was going to come and save him. 

“Tigress.”  
Artemis had been moving on autopilot, mostly absorbed in her thoughts when Red Hood called her name. He motioned to the door they were standing before. Nothing more was required for her to automatically understand; every muscle in her body tensed, prepared for action. A bolt, rubber-tipped but capable of enough damage, was loaded into her crossbow with her fingers carefully poised to shoot. She was alert, ready to react to whatever they faced before her brain had even processed what was happening. 

The light above the door turned from red to green and with an almost inaudible click the lock unlatched. 

Jason cursed before she even made it in, so she was able to duck swiftly beneath the mallet that instantly swung for her head. The high-pitched cackle of Harley Quinn rang out with no restraint, followed by a comical ‘OOPSIE!’ when, failing to crack Artemis’ skull, the mallet smacked audibly into the wall. Utilising the momentum built up as she sprang back to her feet, Artemis moved in as her opponent was flung wide. She went in for a strike to the kidney, but Harley Quinn hadn’t survived her dangerous, criminal life without picking up a bit of hand-to-hand. With surprising grace she slipped away, reigniting her laughter. 

“Awww, Mandy should’ve let me keep my hyenas,” She pouted, dodging Artemis’ follow up attack, “They would’ve gobbled you right up, cutie!”  
As they fought, Artemis was aware of Jason locked into battle with Deadshot. The sniper wouldn’t be as renowned as he was if he wasn’t pretty good at hand-to-hand, but they certainly had the advantage in a smaller space. Although the Red Hood had built up a fearsome reputation with his guns, he still shone without the need to shoot. 

At the far end of the room, almost impossible to reach with a wild and unpredictable Harley Quinn acting as a barrier, she could see the thick glass that served as many of the cell doors. On the other side, Duke stood restlessly with an anxious expression, his arms pulled back behind him. He didn’t seem harmed, although it was difficult to tell from such a distance. Either way, it was a relief to see him. Although Artemis didn’t know him as well as the other Batkids, she was fiercely protective of the younger heroes. 

A kick skimmed her ribs, reminding her that she couldn’t afford to be distracted. Only her carefully honed reactions saved from a harder hit that would have caused a lot more damage. As it was, she used her dodge to slide in close, rendering the range of Harley’s mallet useless. Over the years, firstly from her parents and then by her mentors in the Justice League, Artemis had studied to some extent practically every combat technique imaginable and had access to a mind-blowing array of weapons and tools to assist. Still, there was something comfortable about a classic right hook. 

The collision of her fist into a cheekbone felt incredibly satisfying. Her hands were wrapped tightly beneath her fingerless gloves to prevent the worst of the damage, but Artemis could feel the familiar ache in her knuckles that promised a bloom of purple across them in the morning. Still, the audible crack of Harley’s cheekbone proved that it was worth it. 

More maniacal laughter spilled from Harley’s lips in response to the pain, “You’ve got some bite! It almost reminds me of my Puddin’.”  
Artemis responded by using her crossbow as a baton, swiping her opponent’s legs out from under her. For most opponents that would be decisive in a victory, but Harley managed to twist awkwardly in a way that Artemis wouldn’t have expected from anyone other than Nightwing. She barely had a moment to register legs locked around her own neck before it was her crashing to the ground, crossbow slipping out of her grip and clattering across the ground. 

Somewhere beyond her vision, there was a gunshot. A stream of curses that were undeniably from Jason followed, but Artemis could only hope that that didn’t mean he was hit. She couldn’t look, winded as Harley pressed her knee into her stomach, leaning in close with that wild look in her eye.  
“Since I miss my Puddin’ so much,” The woman was panting from exertion, the blue and red of her eye makeup streaked across a face damp from sweat, “Why don’t I show you one of his favourite hobbies?” 

When she was younger, Artemis would have responded in some way. If she felt particularly inspired, she might’ve come up with some witty comeback. Mostly, it was with threats that she then immediately followed up. As Tigress, however, she tended to be quieter. There was little need for words when she could simply act. 

Her crossbow was just out of reach, her stretching fingers only succeeding in pushing it that tiny bit further. Still, she wouldn’t have lasted this long in the business if she was defenceless without her weapon. One arm was quickly thrown up to cover her face, blocking the retaliatory blow directed at her own cheek. Already her other hand was moving and she did not hesitate to jam her fingers brutally into Harley’s eyes. 

Perhaps it was a dirty and dishonourable trick, but Artemis had been trained to fight to win. Honour meant nothing when it could cost you your life. Harley fell back with a shriek; she was still only human, with the same weaknesses to exploit as any other. Artemis pressed the attack, quickly rolling into a crouch which enabled her to strike out with a low kick that met with her opponents jaw. 

It gave her a moment to breathe and consider her strategy. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jason locked into a scuffle with Deadshot. She wasn’t worried. Her partner had succeeded in getting in close, where the assassin’s deadly shot became ineffective. With the advantage of sheer strength, that unnatural fury from the Lazarus pit and better hand-to-hand skill, he had the upper hand. It was only a matter of time before Deadshot became incapacitated. 

“This ain’t so cute anymore,” The lively grin had dropped from Harley’s face, replaced by a dissatisfied pout, not unlike a spoiled, “You’re really gonna get it now.”  
“Why are you fighting so hard?” Artemis was pressed back by a flurry of blows that she only barely managed to block and dodge from the blessing of her finely-tuned instincts, “Why are you so loyal to Waller?”  
Despite the dark bruise already beginning to bloom on her jaw and the wild streaks of bright makeup across her face, there was something different to the Harley that Artemis recalled from her youth. Perhaps it was her eyes, scarce of the blind faith she used to have in the Joker. 

“Mandy’ll blow my brains out!” A spark of life, an almost hysterical cackle, “I’ve still got things to do and I ain’t gonna miss them for nothing!”  
She snaked across the floor, covering ground instantaneously. Once again, Artemis found herself tackled to the ground. Now, Harley wasted no time in weaving her fingers into her ponytail for leverage to slam her skull into the ground. 

Bursts of colour exploded behind Artemis’ eyes and a wave of nausea washed over her. Her fingers clawed blindly, but she failed to find purchase. The second time she really began to fear grievous injury, agony splintering through her mind. 

Then, suddenly, the mass of Harley Quinn looming over her was gone. Blinking away the stars that had crept into the edge of her vision, she could make up a panting figure standing just beyond on her reach. Harley was sprawled on her side, disoriented by a heavy hit. Artemis wasted no time in taking her opportunity to reduce her opponent to unconsciousness, even as her vision swam concerningly. 

“I’d offer you a hand up,” An unfamiliar voice said with faint amusement, “But I can’t actually.”  
Duke Thomas stood, the heavy-duty cuffs locking his wrists together raised slightly. Some of the tech seemed familiar, restrictive of meta-powers. Artemis had never actually met him, only heard of him in passing from Dick. Considering that even he wasn’t the closest to the newest addition to Gotham’s crimefighters, she actually knew very little about the kid. It still didn’t stop the flood of relief upon seeing him free and unharmed.  
“Not bad,” Jason had also come out the victor, although not without a bullet lodged into the bulletproof armour he wore, unsettlingly close to piercing through into flesh. He was referring to Duke’s inventiveness, using his handcuffs as a bludgeon to hit Harley with, “Oracle let you out?” 

“Yeah,” He seemed uncertain around Red Hood, which honestly wasn’t surprising considering Jason’s past with the other Robins. Duke may never have been an official Robin, but he’d worn the colours, “What about the others?”  
“Last we heard, Robin was out,” With the ease of a seasoned hero, Artemis took the lead, “We’re still working on the others.” 

She paused for a moment, observing. There was an exhaustion from the months of captivity that seemed to cling to him, but his eyes remained dark and bold. Unbroken. She smiled, “Thanks for the assist. It’s nice to meet you, Signal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I read anything that only includes Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian as a group I lose a year off my lifespan. It just doesn't make sense. If they're Robins, there should be Steph. Batboys, Duke. Batkids, Duke and Cass. I'd probably include Harper and Cullen too if I'd read any appearances other than Batman and Robin Eternal (which was kind of iffy for me) and a few Detective Comics issues that I've already forgotten.


	5. FINALE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all those who enjoyed this fic and would like to remember it fondly, I suggest that you consider a few things before you read this chapter:  
> 1) That this is short and poorly written  
> 2) The above is so because I didn't really want to write it, I just felt bad leaving it without a conclusion. 
> 
> My interests wax and wane far too frequently to sustain me through writing chaptered fics, something that I will remember to consider in the future. 
> 
> Anyway, sorry for making you wait six months for this disappointment.

If Nightwing had been at peak condition, Goodwin would’ve felt no shame in losing. In fact, he would have been proud of even lasting a couple of rounds, far past his own prime with creaking joints and phantom aches from wounds he’d sustained over a decade ago. As it was, a deep disappointment settled in his bones. He was far from an incompetent combatant, would be considered a great threat by many. Yet a kid who’d spent weeks barely able to stretch his legs, having been fed just little enough to keep him weak and with his hands locked solidly behind his back, had beaten him with relative ease. 

Sure, he’d gotten a couple of solid hits in. It took a surprising amount of willpower to push away the guilt he’d felt at that (stupid, forming emotional attachments to a mission). But now, as he watched Nightwing flash him a cocky smile from the other side of the glass, their roles reversed after all these weeks, he sighed. His own arrogance (he knew how dangerous Nightwing could be, but when he’d entered the cell he’d been seeing the fucked up kid that he’d caught snatches of) had caused him to fail a job for the first time in eight years. Perhaps it was a sign that he was past it. 

Overall though, he felt a flash of fear for the young man. Even if he got out, where would he go? Back to being Nightwing, with his name and face exposed to the world? Back to running around on rooftops, facing all manner of dangerous crooks and criminal masterminds? And that was before the aliens, the Gods, the crazy superpowered world-endangering threats that a kid with a few circus skills should not be facing. 

“Richard,” He pressed closer to the glass, trying to inject utmost sincerity into his tone, "You don't owe them anything. Please, just think about what you're returning to. You don’t need to be the one to solve the world’s problems. You’re all just kids. Leave it to the Gods and aliens to fight the Gods and aliens before you get yourself killed.”   
Perhaps he was imagining the genuine sadness that flickered in his expression, before that cocky grin reemerged, “You’re not bad, Goodwin. If you hadn’t been keeping me locked up I would’ve really liked you.” 

Then he disappeared. 

***

Hope fluttered in his chest, drumming relentlessly against his ribcage. They’d come. Dick allowed himself one long moment to revel in relief, almost dizzy now that he was free. Well, almost. It was time to steel himself, return to a more calculating frame of mind. He’d do anything to make sure they all escaped. 

As he moved swiftly down the stark corridors, he took a mental stock. Goodwin had been one thing, but chances were there were much more capable fighters in the building. Usually, there would be very few enemies threatening enough to actually cause any concern when it came to simple combat, but in his current state he had to be cautious. It was a combination of sudden adrenaline and the element of surprise that allowed him to beat Goodwin so easily- already, he could feel an ache in his limbs that had grown unused to battle. 

It was testament to his condition that he hadn’t sensed something off sooner. Usually, he could rely on an instinct so finely tuned that it was almost a sixth sense to allow him to avoid confrontations with unsavoury characters when it was in his interest to do so. As it was, upon going to turn a corner it was only a lifetime of training that enabled him to instantly move back and avoid the powerful swipe of Killer Croc. That impossibly tough skin whistled past him with the promise of shattered bones. Dick barely had a moment to get his bearings before he was on the defensive, scarcely slipping away from attacks that he would have dodged almost without worrying a few weeks ago. 

“Waylon, it’s been a while!” Dick tugged on his familiar old Nightwing facade. Mask or no mask, it felt right. Regardless of the extent of his mental and physical exhaustion, he buried it deep and faced his old enemy with a glorious smile.   
Unfortunately, Killer Croc wasn’t renowned for his stellar conversational skills. In fact, he didn’t even bother with the elementary level smack-talk he occasionally indulged in, instead opting for an enraged roar and a flying fist at a speed even Dick hadn’t been prepared for. 

Although he managed to duck back, blissfully avoiding the cracked ribs and doubtless internal damage taking the full hit would cause, the hit still skimmed him. In his armoured Nightwing suit, it would barely even register but Croc’s abrasive skin tore through the thin cotton of his shirt like it was never even there. The burn of it tearing into his skin made him gasp, but he could deal. It wasn’t a deep wound; blood welled to the surface of his torn flesh but none of it actually spilled. 

Dick had been doing this long enough, running around in circles against the exact same enemies, rinse and repeat, to know how to beat Croc. Usually, the plan was to enrage him and outsmart him. It was just a case of dodging long enough to do so (one direct hit would keep you down for at least a couple of weeks). That, however was an issue right now. 

“Not ‘sposed to kill you, but I can hurt you!” Croc broke his silence to profess his great desire to inflict grievous injury. It was nothing new, so Dick tuned him out to focus on maybe not getting some shattered bones. 

Still, he was already tiring. If he didn’t end this or get away quickly, it was going to end up with him locked back up, only with a few extra injuries and even more intense surveillance. The thing was, he was struggling to figure out a way to do either. 

He was backed into a corner. It was reaching the point where he was considering just how quickly he’d be able to recover to move if he took a hit; Croc tended to like to gloat, so he could take the opportunity to book it. 

Fortunately, the situation didn’t quite get that dire. It took a moment for him to realise what had happened when Croc halted with a shudder and let out a strangled choke. A dark figure leaped forward and, impressively considering the durability of Croc’s skin, knocked him down with a solid punch to the face. A second figure was quick to move in before any recovery was able to be made, jabbing a needle into his gums and injecting it quickly. It must have been a fast-acting sedative, as Croc gave one last, distinctly slower, swipe which was smoothly dodged. 

“Hel- Huntress, Batwing,” His bones felt heavy with relief, but he couldn’t stop yet, “You two are a sight for sore eyes.”   
And they certainly were. He and Helena may have a particularly antagonistic relationship, rarely able to go more than five minutes in the same room without falling into a familiar routine of barbs and thorny remarks, but he’d always trusted her to have his back in a fight. Whilst his relationship with Luke was a little more distant they got along well enough and Dick had a deep respect for the other man’s intelligence, fighting prowess and, most of all, his fierce independence. 

“Nightwing!” It was Luke that gripped his arm now, a sturdy presence that quickly checked him over, “Are you okay?”   
With a grim smile, Dick shrugged off his concerns, “I’ve been better, but I’ve also been worse.”   
Helena cast him a sharp, determining look, “Good, let’s get moving then. The faster we gather everyone the faster we get out.” 

Something seemed to occur to her suddenly, even as she loaded a fresh (and blunted, Dick noted carefully), bolt into her crossbow, “Weren’t you supposed to be locked up?”   
“I got out,” There were more important things on Dick’s mind, “The others? Are the others out yet?” 

“We’ve got Damian, Duke and Steph. Last I heard, Bruce had found Tim so he’ll be out before long if he’s not already. As soon as we get Cass, we’re on our way out,” Luke passed him a com.   
For a brief moment, that was enough. They’d get Cass, there was no need to worry. It wasn’t everyone though, “Alfred. What about Alfred? And Kate, they said they had her too.”   
“They said that?” Luke shook his head, “Kate’s with Bruce, she came to get you all out too. And Alfred back at the base, about as out of mind with worry as I’ve ever seen him.” 

It was enough to make him go weak with relief. Dick had been riddled with guilt over not managing to determine their safety. Now, he was more angry at himself. For years, he had been drilled on interrogation techniques so that he could both implement them and not be fooled by them. Yet it had only taken one of the oldest tricks in the book to hook him. 

“Oi,” Helena was curt as ever, handing over a comm link. Still, there was a hint of softness just around the edges that was usually vacant.   
They began to move as Dick put it in. Without saying a word, he simply let the voices of his loved ones wash over him. They weren’t done yet, he couldn’t relax completely, but he’d missed them so much. The hollow ache in his chest pulsed with the near overwhelming flood of love and reassurance.   
He had been right those few weeks back when Torres had been struggling to pry information from him. People were outraged. People would continue to be outraged for a while, would pretend that they understood who he had been and what he had needed when he was nine. Perhaps he too would wonder about who he could have been if Bruce hadn’t been there that night, if Robin hadn’t become the partner of Batman. But he would never regret that choice. Soon, a new crisis would come as it always would. When it did, no one would be outraged when the Justice League saved the day. No one would shake their fist regardless of whether Nightwing or Dick Grayson saved their life. Things would settle, they would survive and the single most important truth that he had lived solemnly by all these years would remain:

Dick Grayson’s purpose was to save everyone that he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND SHE'S DONE.   
> Never expect anything other than one-shots from me ever again lmao


End file.
